


the last sacrifice

by GreyWardenCousland



Series: the last sacrifice [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Crushing, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut maybe, F/M, Life in the Circle, Some angst, The Fade, possible eventual harm but i will tag as relevant, some religion mention i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-08-26 18:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWardenCousland/pseuds/GreyWardenCousland
Summary: I haven't written a fic in a hot second. This was prompted by some very lovely people over on tumblr who seemed to like my Warden, Evie, and also encouraged me to go ahead and just, well, write dammit!Thank you. I hope this doesn't disappoint.





	1. Prologue

_Let the blade pass through the flesh,_

_Let my blood touch the ground,_

_Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._

 -Andraste 7:12[2]

 

It was cold. That was the first thing she became aware of, the second being a slow drip-drip at the edge of her hearing. The ground was hard and **heavy** underneath her, something insurmountable which would swallow her up if she moved too fast. The air felt warm and still and soft.

She opened her eyes and promptly closed them back again. 'What in all of...'

Evie hid her face against her arms, the robe sleeves providing some protection to her still sleepy eyes from the light stabbing through her retina. She held her breath and slowly exhaled in the place of a sigh.

You learned quickly to not appear obstinate at the Circle, not to appear frustrated or annoyed. Anger was, after all, one of the easiest sins to fall to.

 _This doesn't make sense._ She listened carefully to the dripping. Her head felt heavy yet strangely light. Like cotton drenched in water and held up by a levitation spell.   _I've just woken up but this isn't my bed. And the light was odd. It was... everywhere. How could it... oh._

Evie pushed herself up onto her knees, then to a sitting position, eyes still closed but face intentionally relaxed. Carefully, holding back a grimace at the ever present light, she opened her eyes to the sight of the library which wasn't there the first time she had looked.

'Andraste's Knickerweasels, you'll end up gray before you're twenty at this rate, kitten.'

She closed her eyes for a minute before turning towards the voice. Well, if she hadn't been sure before then this was all the proof she needed.

'At least I don't smell like a mabari', Evie responded affectionately, forcing her expression into one of calm happiness. She would not break down and cry this time. Evie had learned to see these as gifts, refused to see them otherwise. The alternative would break her and she still had too many people who needed her strong.

A man stood not two steps away from her, the light glinting off of the earring in his right ear, a quirky smile on his handsome face. He had called her kitten because he said she was like a scared little cat when she first came to the Circle. All posture and claws and had to be house trained, although not much could be done about the shaggy mane short of shaving her bald. Her heart swell with pride just as it was shattering into a thousand pieces.

The tall, lanky blond snorted indelicately. 'Like you'd know what a mabari smells like.' He sat down next to her on the bench and she couldn't help but lean towards him, letting her shoulder bump his, craving the contact even as her logical mind scolded her.

Anders had been gone nearly a year now. Jowan had found out that he'd been sent to solitary after his last attempted escape. This was nothing but a dream if she was lucky, a demon if she was not, yet Evie could never resist the temptation of spending some time with the one person she had called family ever since she could remember. Who had scrunched up his long nose at her - like a beak, she would remind him, grinning -, rolled his eyes yet swatted anyone and anything who would pick on his adoptive sister. Not that he called her that. Not that either of them would dare be so obvious with their affection past the early stages of childhood. Oh how she missed her friend.

'We can't all be world-weary like you, old man.'

They sat and talked and laughed, shared the food and drink that was magically there when they reached out and gone as soon as they forgot about it, all while her heart fluttered down into the pits of her being, like discarded feathers settling onto land after a flock of birds took flight in fear.

_Please, Maker, bring him back in one piece._

_Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing,_

_An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown._

 - Andraste 1:1-1:14


	2. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evie learns who her friends are not, and is forced to accept who she is.

** Chapter 1 **

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._

_Foul and corrupt are they_

_Who have taken His gift_

_And turned it against His children._

\- Transfigurations 1:1-1:5

 

'Wake up,' a hissing in her ear, Evie's fingertips tingling with unreleased electricity before she even got her bearings, hear heart beating against her ribs like a wild thing. She cursed internally and clenched her fist to extinguish the magic. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Lack of control would get you much worse than killed, as she knew all too well. Still, she would have had to fight to quench the quick surge of pride at having managed the feat had she not been busy trying to breathe past her heart, inconveniently lodged in her throat.

Normally, attempting the spell ended with combusted soft furnishings or, in one memorable case, Jowan's eyebrows.

'Jowan, what in -'

'Move,' came another, sharper hiss .

She scooted over with a huff of annoyance and let him lay down next to her, each facing the other so they became the sole focus in the dark room, an illusion of seclusion in the cramped dorms shared with several others. It used to be an easier fit when they were little and would do this nightly, overcome with loneliness and fear, tearstained mornings and nightmare fuelled nights their only company. Later on they took to sneaking into Anders' bed, piling on top of the older boy who would grumble awful curses at the intrusion while nonchalantly sneaking extra blankets to his cot so his little night time pests wouldn't catch their death. The thought sent an arrow through her already tender heart.

'What is it?' Annoyance and haughtiness were good companions, and had already proven effective armour for her battered heart. She had mastered this trick long ago, in memories now shrouded by the fog of time from which a woman's face peaked out, loves were lost and terrors hid.  'It must be nearly dawn, you know they'll get the wrong idea and punish us.'

'This is real, Evie. They're going to make me Tranquil, I know it!'

Evie sighed deeply, deflating like the balloons Enchanter Seria made for them all last Wintersend, hiding her face against his chest to keep the sound muffled. This was Jowan's biggest fear, and it was not an unreasonable fear for someone like them. They had known others, children even, made Tranquil for the smallest slip-ups and neither Evie nor Jowan could claim their innocence or even their self-control as protection against such a cruel fate. But Jowan's fear bordered on obsession and she simply couldn't deal with it this morning, not while Anders' face was still hovering at the back of her mind, a spectre to join the ranks of those tormenting her in the cold light of morning.

'Jowan.'

One word, but it was all either of them could get out before they heard it. A shuffling in the hallway, the sign that their _protectors_ had awoken to oversee their charges. Jowan stiffened and slowly rolled out of the bed, landing with a quiet thud that was muffled by Evie's sudden onset of coughing. This wasn't their first rodeo and they had perfected this escape.

By the time the Templar walked in, an eyebrow arched suspiciously in her direction, Evie was blinking at him owlishly, an image of sleepy innocence, while Jowan was an immobile pile underneath his blanket, two bunks down. They would not speak for the rest of the day and would not have dared attempt it even if they had been given a chance, but the seed had now been planted in Evie's mind. Jowan always worried but could she really afford to disbelieve him?

The Templars awarded her what privacy was available at the Tower, letting her step behind the back wall and into the washroom for her morning ablutions, a quick brush of her chesnut hair and a chance to pull her day robes over her shift. It took no longer than it would have to walk around the dorm room twice, but the other Apprentices had started to rise sleepily and go about their own morning routines. You woke early in the Circle, whether you liked it or not, as laziness and Sloth were close relations. With a barely suppressed sigh, Evie tucked a loose strand behind her pointed ear and left the illusory safety of the washroom, braiding her long hair as she went and schooling her expression so as to not betray the turmoil within her. 

The rest of the day fell within a familiar pattern. Jowan would catch her eye, Evie would discreetly make her way towards him and someone or other would interrupt before he could say any more. They couldn't even sit together during their Herbalism lessons, which Evie would never admit to being secretly relieved about. She would not have been able to pay attention to their lesson had Jowan sat next to her, both due to his fidgeting and her own concerns for the young man, and it was easily one of her favourite subjects.

As was habit, Evie spent her recreational time after the lunch hour in the library, minding some of the young Apprentices. They had taken to trailing her there to ask questions and see who could wear her down through glibness or wits to gather favour, information and, just maybe, honeysweets. Her age group were encouraged to assist and mentor the younger generations, providing relief for the Senior Enchanters while instilling a sense of belonging in themselves. She understood the principle but had been reluctant at first, much preferring her own company to that of others. Besides, she could not help but wonder how many of these young, vital children, laughing and giggling among themselves now, would even reach maturity. It invariably dampened her spirits and left her forlorn for the rest of the eve, but it was a bittersweet time regardless.

 _When did I become the grumpy older sibling?_ She wondered this idly while attempting to disentangle herself from the gaggle of ten year olds, giving an older boy a well-meaning cuff round the ear for his transgressions. _At least he had the grace to look embarrassed._

Before Evie had finished extricating herself from the children's midst, a gloved hand fell gently onto her shoulder and silence fell over the exuberant group around her, prompted by a familiar Templar clearing his voice behind her. The voice was stern but not unkind and when she turned around she could smell soap and leather, and the polish he used to keep his armor spotless.

'Cullen?' she half-whispered, her voice catching on the last syllable. He was doing his best impression of a dignified statue, if statues could blush to the tips of their ears and look like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.

'You must accompany me, Evie.' His voice was steady, if a bit forced. He sighed and raised the hand from her shoulder to a pacifying gesture, stopping the words about to spill from her lips. The look on his face convinced her to heed the warning where a gesture alone could not. 'Please, Evie, do not ask. Come.'

With a nod to the children and a carefree smile to the children which she did not feel in the least, Evie got up and turned to follow the young Templar out of the room. _This is it._ A soft breath in through her nose, focusing on the feeling of air filling her lungs and pushing on her diaphragm. _You knew it was about time._ A soft exhale, barely audible even to her own ears past the click of their heels on the stone floors. _And yet, I had expected my Harrowing to be..._ She almost broke her serene mask and grimaced, a surer tale than any of her nerves distracting her and breaking her focus. _What? Special? Did you expect a fanfare? Enchanter Neina's honeycakes? Anders to come back and Jowan to hold your hand?_ A thought, brief and fleeting, crushed like a butterfly in a blizzard before the hope could betray her. Would Jowan get his as well and finally be free of his obsession? They could not commit Harrowed Mages to Tranquility, the Chantry would never allow it, so surely it would mark his safety. _And mine as well, if I survive._ Her heart beat faster against her ribs at the thought.

Distracted further by the thought, she walked trance-like up and up and further still, past countless doors and staircases leading to the mostly empty living quarters, past the Senior Enchanters' rooms with their individual rooms, up to the stairs each Apprentice knew, craved and dreaded all at once.

Evie startled out of her reverie. Did Cullen's hand brush past hers, or was that a figment of her overactive imagination? She chanced a look at him but nothing seemed amiss, perhaps other than a slight rosiness to his cheeks and the patch of neck visible above the edge of his armour. Was she imagining it? She went to say something, although Andraste only knew what she would have said, but they were out of time. The door stood before her, solid and unyielding, a symbol of all the other mages who had stood before it, the grave weight they all bore each day of their lives, and a promise of safety or death.

 She brought her shoulders back, raised her chin up high, and walked through the door.

**

 First Enchanter Irving was at the far end of a semi-circle made up of Templars, young and old, familiar and not. Her heart sank when she noted Gregoir, though she quickly chastised herself for her childish expectations. The man supervised all important events within the Circle, there was little reason why this would be any different.

 _'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him_ ', he intoned, 'thus spoke the Prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the egde of ruin.'

Gregoir explained only what she had already guessed, that her Harrowing would be today; he warned of demons ever-present, ever-waiting to take over an unwitting mage, prompting a bone-deep shivered not of cold, with his assurance that failure would have her struck down.

She kept her eyes respectfully lowered but high enough to appear attentive, her hands relaxed by her side rather than clasped defensively in front of her. Her breathing came level and steady, as they had practiced daily before breaking fast. The lyrium sang its distracting song as Irving came forth and she struggled to listen to his hushed whispers, explaining the necessity for the test to be a secret one.

The First Enchanter's words sounded apologetic, almost pleading to her ears. Evie briefly wondered whether he was trying to convince her, or himself, of the necessity for secrecy and strictness. Irving's words of encouragement, the only small comfort he was able to offer under the watchful eye of so many Templars, did little to warm her chilled soul before he as well was warned to leave her be.

With a last look at her teacher of so many years, Evie turned towards the fount and began the test to determine whether she would live to see her twentieth summer.

**

The Fade was not unfamiliar to her, as it would not be unfamiliar to any mage, nor was this the first time she was fully aware of dreaming. The edges of the world seemed blurred and it was hard to get your bearings, but the outline of the Black City proved an ever present constant far away in the sky, if a source of indeterminate anxiety. She shivered and forced her tense shoulders back as she walked the winding paths and met with demons and wisps, spirits of Valor and the most peculiar rodent. It was refreshing to be able to use her magic freely however, even in a dream, and part of her revelled in the freedom. She also quite enjoyed the Sloth demon's riddles, despite part of her reeling at the very thought. Good Mages would never dare such things, after all, and what did that make her?

In the end, she succeeded. The demon's words, however, would stay with her for years to come.

'The others you betrayed before me. What were their names?'

'What? They were not as promising as you. It was a... long time ago. Ah, I don't remember their names... I don't even remember my own name. It's the Fade. And the Templars killing me... **like they tried with you.** '

'Anything to survive.' She answered, unable to keep her rage from slipping out through the coldness of her words. 'Like an animal. Or worse.' _So many others before me. So many lost._

She did not care for his praise, nor for his trickery. Even if the man was not suspicious and showered her with flattery, Evie would never forgive betrayal, even that not aimed her own self. The advice he gave, however, was sound.

'Simple killing is a warrior's job. **The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions. Careless trust. Pride**.' She took a step back and felt herself sink into herself, into the very ground and nothingness. ' **Keep your wits about you, Mage. True tests never end**.'

**

'Are you alright?' A familiar voice, shaking her awake, bringing her back to herself. 'Say something, please!'

Evie sat up, holding her head and groaning. Jowan paled at such an obvious display from his normally self-contained friend. 'They carried you in this morning, I hadn't even known you'd been gone all night!'

'I.. I have?' She swallowed hard, her head still spinning with the demon's words of guidance and questions of how often she might come to apply its teachings. What did it say about her, that she was even considering the advice of one so foul? There was no doubt that it would have gladly brought on her demise, if she her concentration had slipped, or her mind had wandered as it was so often prone to do. A shiver, suppressed just in time, bringing goose flesh to her arms.

Unsurprisingly, Jowan's relief was tinged with a note of bitterness at his own lack of advancement. Evie's heart sank as she herself stood, making her way to the First Enchanter as was requested of her. She felt as if everyone's eyes were on her, as if her Harrowing had left a physical mark upon her skin for all to see. The familiarity of the corridors brought no comfort and she heard many whispered conversations as she passed. _Why do you care, are you best friends now? That Templar, Cullen, said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he had ever seen._

Once again, Evie found herself focusing on the knot of muscles between her shoulder blades, already so painful she could hardly stand it. Some people greeted her well enough and she exchanged a few words with Anerin and even Cullen, whilst others she gave a wide berth, not having the patience or temerity to deal with. She winced as she passed a fellow Apprentice losing control of a fire spell in the library, watching as the instructor quickly quenched it before its greedy fingers reached the valuable tomes on display. Evie's reaction to this transgression was immediate and visceral, and she had to move fast in order to keep her neutral expression. As she did so, she realised her slip - not a _fellow_ Apprentice anymore. She had passed her Harrowing. She was a Mage of the Circle. For a brief second she allowed relief and wonderment to steep through her, although they were not to last.

Irving was not alone when she found him in his office. The presence of a stranger was hardly a common occurrence, much less so one who brought such talk of letting Mages out of the Tower, to go fight - **fight!** \- on the front lines. From her limited knowledge, the man seemed to have the Rivaini colouring but his accent was more complex and subtle to her untrained ear. He was also wearing armour, not as full as the Templars she was used to but recognisable as such regardless. She didn't know what to make of the talks between Irving, Gregoir and the stranger, and she stood before them until acknowledged. The air itself seemed to breathe a sigh when Gregoir took his leave and Irving finally introduced the man as Duncan of the Grey Wardens.

Despite what her demeanour would suggest, Evie was not an uncurious study. Her face remained schooled into politeness and just the right amount of interest, but inside she felt a surge of emotion. This man had seen the outside world, lived within it instead of gazing at it through thin strips of window, and it was no more than a day to day matter for him. He spoke of darkspawn, a word not foreign but not a subject she had cause to study, of King and country, of gathering Mages for their offensive capabilities. Evie allowed a small quirk of her lips. She had showed no great capability for the later, despite a predilection to set things on fire as a young Apprentice. The Primal spells made her uncomfortable, as they always instilled seeds of agitation within her heart. It was near on impossible to sit through the Chant or her lessons after she had practiced them, a fact which had often led to issues and unpleasantness between her and those meant to supervise her. Not that Anders had ever seen things this way but - Evie quickly brought her errant thoughts back to the present and the men before her.

The man proved kind enough, and seemed surprisingly sympathetic to the life of circle Mages, and Evie was secretly glad for the chance to escort him to his quarters.

'Serah Duncan,' Evie started, timidly at first, ' I wanted to talk to you a little more, if it is not an issue. I could not help but overhear talks of the war.'

After very little persuading, Duncan proved a guarded but most wise and intelligent man. He spoke with precision and efficiency, although Evie wished it were not so and she could hear more of what he had to say. The Grey Wardens were heroes, after all, and it was hard to believe she was standing in the presence of one such as him. She said as much, as they entered his rooms, prompting the older man to laugh.

She left his company with a lighter heart and a busy mind, which helped insulate her from earlier feelings of not fitting into the shape left for her in the world anymore. Her good spirits lasted only until she saw her friend running towards her and promptly lead her to the Chantry of all places, to meet his beloved.

Of all the things. Jowan, her friend since they were little, Jowan had fallen for an initiate. She closed her eyes for the briefest minute. Of all her friends, Jowan had always been the most adept at getting himself into trouble. And she knew full well she would be helping him this time as she had before.

**

 _They would really do it._ Evie was reeling from the discovery still, and it felt as if hours had passed and no more than seconds at the same time. The suggestion to seek Irving's guidance passed through her mind, but if this was already fact then he had been the one to make it so. She could trust no one with her friend's safety. _They would make Jowan Tranquil for no reason. He has done nothing of the things they warn against... how could they do it?_ Evie fought tears as she snuck through the hallways and went about obtaining the Rod of Fire from Owain and assisting the two lovebirds with their quest for freedom. She felt as if the very foundation of her world had crumbled, and even her time spent in the Fade was more substantial by comparison to the madness surrounding her now. _They would really do it_ , was the refrain swimming through her mind, the background music to the choreography of her actions. He was not the perfect Apprentice, and perhaps he had a tendency for the fatalistic and misguided but well-meaning acts - Anders would have much preferred the term 'dunderhead', and he employed that word and more often enough in the past. Right now, she found herself to be in agreement with the descriptor.

In the end, it hardly mattered. Once past the Victim's Door - _What a fitting name,_ she thought, embittered by the recent disclosures and what felt like, and were, betrayals -, Evie lingered on what felt like each item they encountered, to the chagrin of Jowan and Lily. The Sentinels were a terrifying sight, but she persevered, knowing she was the only of the three with any real capability to get past them. There were so many things kept here, hidden in plain sight past the door few could cross; what looked like an ancient Elven statue of a dog, of which she knew little despite her lineage, a statue from Tevinter which would haunt her dreams for weeks to come; the poor woman, trapped in stone for all eternity.  Evie knew full well she would never get a chance such as this.

It was with great relief that Evie and her companions snuck back out of the forbidden place, blood splattered and Jowan's phylactery shattered. There was something not quite pleasant in her friend's voice when he pronounced his freedom, but she was too perturbed by the events of the day to make note of what gave her cause for concern. She briefly wondered if her own phylactery would have shared its fate, had she not gone through her Harrowing already. She sighed in the relative solitude of the corridors, and pushed open the doors to their freedom.

'We did it!' Jowan's face lit up, 'I can't believe it, thank you! We could never have -'

Steps, metal on stone.

'So what you said was true, Irving.'

Evie felt at once lightheaded and petrified. 'I knew this would end badly,' she whispered to no one in particular, moving to stand between Gregoir and Jowan.

'An Initiate, conspiring with a blood mage. I am disappointed, Lilly.' The Templar stepped closer and peered at Lilly. 'She seems shocked, but in control of her own mind. Not a thrall of the blood mage, then. You were right, Irving.'

Evie looked at her teacher, all colour draining from her face. He had betrayed him, them both, for surely he knew enough of their friendship to know she would have tried to help him. Gregoir spoke of punishment, but Evie hardly heard him until he addressed her.

'And this one! Newly a Mage and already flounting the rules of the Circle!'

'I am disappointed in you,' the old man said in his soft, gravelly voice, which now grated instead of soothed, 'you could have told me of what you knew, and yet you did not.'

'You don't care about the mages!' Evie set her hand on Jowan's arm to keep him back, but he shook her off and continued his tirade. 'You just bow to the Chantry's every whim!'

Before Evie could even try to mitigate the damage, Gregoir uttered the words that would forever change her destiny. Jowan was sentenced to death. She did not even hear what would come of the Chantry woman, Lily, past the ringing in her ears and the stillness in her heart. And then, he proved them all right. Jowan, her friend, took out a knife and condemned himself.

 _No. He was already condemned,_ some part of her frozen mind had awoken even as she took a step back and covered her lips. She felt as if she was at the centre of a great storm, although she could not say how she would be able to make the comparison, having always been sheltered - _Trapped._ \- within the Tower. The storm grew as she watched Lily back away and accuse her previously-beloved. _Fickle, stupid woman_ , her mind went on, keep to blame anyone else for the transgressions so she did not have to blame herself, keen to turn her paid into anger and keep it from spilling from her eyes. Truth be told, the words applied to her as much as the Initiate, and she knew already she would never forgive herself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._  

'Jowan, stop!'

Her words did nothing. He blew everyone away and ran, and Evie felt powerless to do anything but sink to the floor in shock. She watched the spot where her friend - _Was he ever my friend, truly? -_ had stood, and it took what felt like years until Irving's voice managed to break through her shattered senses.

'I knew it, blood magic! To overcome so many, I never thought him capable of such power!' Gregoir exclaimed, even as Evie grabbed hold of her teacher's arm and helped the older man to his feet. Her blood, frozen in terror, started to boil and Irving discreetly tugged her back before she could speak.  She felt her hands shake as she clasped them into fists, her fingertips tingling with unreleased power.

 _No, you did not, did you._ She looked on at the man, and remembered each and every transgression he had turned a blind eye to in the name of the Chantry he claimed to serve, each Templar who had delighted in petty cruelties under his reign. In the name of a Maker who claimed to care, yet would allow this to happen.

 **The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions. Careless trust. Pride**. _I may be guilty of two of those, Templar, but no longer._

Gregoir continued to bark his poison at Irving and Evie, and everyone around him, but she could not stand by and allow the wretched woman to suffer more than was her due. Evie blamed her for much of what had happened, but she recognised it had probably been stupidity like herself rather than malice that led to this.  

'Lily didn't know Jowan was a blood mage.' Her voice was rough and barely recognisable as her own, even to her ears. 'Neither did any of us.'

The Templar ignored Evie's statements, although she noted by the look in his eyes he would not forget them. 'And you.' He rounded on her, but anger had burned away the last of her fear by then. She stood tall and proud, although her inexperience in the feeling showed in the trembling of her hands and the stiffness of her back. When Irving interrupted his rant to ask if she had taken anything from the forbidden place, she looked him in the eye as she lied, rejoicing in the rebellion. 'No, First Enchanter. I did not not.' The necklace hung heavy on her collarbone and the staff lay nestled between the folds of her robes, enough to hide any distinguishing marks. She could not tell if he believed her, and part of her wished him to call her bluff.

She kept her eyes steady and her back straight, fuelled by nothing but anger and a dead woman's determination - for she knew that was what she had become -, even as the armoured man drew closer, and she became certain he would strike her. Any hand, when gloved in metal, could do quite some damage to unprotected flesh, and he was a large man even among the Templars.

'Knight-Commander, if I may.' The elegant voice broke through Evie's grimness but she did not turn, instincts she did not know she had taking over and preventing her from exposing her back to the enraged Templar. He spoke of recruiting Mages for the Grey Wardens? Evie felt this absurd. They were never told of Mages being part of the Wardens. Who could think of such a thing?

 _But they would not, would they,_ she whispered in the privacy of her own mind. _If it were so, they would not want you to get ideas above your station._ She knew this to be true in the deepest part of her heart, and that conviction replaced her anger as the other two cautioned him of her actions - assisted a blood mage, disregarded the safety of all - even as Duncan extended his invitation to take her into the Warden's ranks. **_It is a rare person that would risk everything for a friend in need._** Was that true? She had thought it to be true, but she had thought a lot of things to be so when they had turned out otherwise.

'If the Grey Wardens will have me,' she spoke, louder and clearer than before, raising her chin in clear defiance, 'then I will gladly go.'

She felt more than saw Duncan move slightly closer, as if preparing for whatever Gregoir could do whilst the men argued. The Templar must have read his actions similarly, for he stopped and looked at him closely. 'I take this young Mage under my wing and take all responsibility for her actions.' For once, Irving stood up to the Templar and Evie felt Duncan's hand at her back, guiding her away from all she had ever known in this world.

 

_They shall find no rest in this world_

_Or beyond._

\- Transfigurations 1:1-1:5

 

 


	3. Ostagar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Evie meets future friends and learns a terrible secret. 
> 
> Still very narration heavy and it turns out my fiesty Arcane sword-wielding lunatic is a shy wallflower at first. Somehow I love her even more for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a lot about how shocked a dwarven Warden would be during their first nights above ground, but some Mages have never set foot outside of their Circle. Why would it be any different?

_Blessed are they who stand before_

_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

-Benedictions 4:10

 

Light flashed painfully bright against the backdrop of canvas and woodsmoke, making Evie jump out of her skin and curl in on herself tighter still. Her robes were doing little to keep out the cold, damp air and she had taken to sitting on a large rock at the mouth of the cave, closer to where the fire Duncan had made burned bright. Her legs had migrated from underneath her, demure and unassuming in the manner she was taught to favour, to propping up her chin, wrapped up in her arms. _When did you change so much, Evie?_ she thought miserably, going through the events of the last week for the hundredth time that eve as she watched the gale trying to tear down the canvas Duncan had put up to form a makeshift door.

Duncan had said it would take the best part of two weeks to get to Ostagar, but he had not counted on the storm which was refusing to relent. Supplies were low and she was cold, hungry and as miserable as she could ever remember being, stuck in the middle of nowhere - regardless of what Duncan said, bushes, rocks and bears were the very definition of _nowhere_. It had been a good start to their trip, an adventure of the sort Anders may tell her or she would read in precious books smuggled before the Templars knew what was going on - at great risk, if you were found out. Evie was full of righteous anger as she packed what little belongings she had and said a rushed fairwell to those she encountered in her path. She marched out of Kinloch Hold with her back straight and chin up, looking and feeling every bit the free woman.

She learned a lot in those first days on the road.

She learned that, despite the intense and continuous abuse and degradation, it was a fact that Circle Mages had shelter and warmth provided, and thus had no need for well insulating robes or underthings. She very much regretted this particular discovery.

She learned that, while Circle Mages often walked miles within a day and even worked outside in the gardens from time to time, walking on soft earth or smooth stone did not compare to the bumps, rocks, branches, trenches and other Maker forsaken booby-traps which were scattered over the landscape beyond those walls. Her legs were often numb from the knees down - and she counted it as a blessing when they finally reached those stages - and she could barely roll out of her bedroll in the morning from muscle ache.

She learned what storms felt like. They were cold, the kind that went straight to your bones and made a nest of sharpness and numbness and pain. They were loud, so loud she could not help but cover her ears and flinch. They were wet, like standing in the showers well past your allotted time, but in full clothing which then clung to you in the most awkward way, making you, if possible, even wetter and colder than if you had been naked.

She also learned things of beauty, she conceded begrudgingly poking at the fire with a stick in a vain attempt to feel useful. The sky had been so... blue. And stretched everywhere. How did people manage to go about their business, with the sky just stretching out in every-which-way like that? She felt like any minute she could fly off into the sky, like she was walking in the Fade instead of on solid ground. How did people know which way was East or West or whatever else? You could not get your bearings when everywhere looked the same, and yet this strange man, Duncan, seemed to think it perfectly reasonable to guide himself by sun and stars like it was a respectable way to travel.

And the stars. Maker, the stars. So bright out in the hills, once the firepit was put out and darkness became a soft blanket surrounding the world. She had not slept at all the first two nights, obsessing over each and every pinpoint of light above her, unable to close her eyes when she found a hundred more for every one she focused on.

Duncan had been understanding and very diplomatic, hardly doing more than passing a warning that a tired Mage was of little use on the battlefield. She suspected he found her highly amusing, which did not fail to infuriate her each time she thought of it. Maker's breath, how could she help it?

At least the plants were familiar, if bigger and, well, rougher looking. They did not grow in orderly rows within Enchanter Neina's gardens - she had **known** that, of course! There was hardly any need to raise an eyebrow when she had stopped to look at their disposition on the ground, surely! -, nor were they a decent, manageable size. Evie had taken to collecting elfroot at every stop for something to do, since she did not trust herself enough to identify edibles yet despite Duncan's attempts to teach her, nor did she wish to chance her hand at starting a fire by herself. This, at least, she was good at and she took the time to practice Enchanter Neina's lessons.

Enchanter Neina was elderly but kind and insisted Evie had a knack for biology and plants in general, despite only having seen the vast majority of the plants in textbook illustrations and the few paintings they were allowed on some of the walls of the Circle. Before the events which led to where she was presently, her teacher had been trying to get Evie assigned to work with her in the greenhouses on a more permanent basis, insisting that her knees were getting too old for the up and down required of her position and new blood was essential if they wanted a steady supply of fresh ingredients for the potions. Evie felt certain Gregoir denied the request on principle rather than for any logical reason, as the Templars needed the elfroot poultices Enchanter Neina made more than even the young, disaster prone Apprentices.

She sighed and poked the fire some more before using the long branch to draw runes in the dust by her feet. Was this the right thing to do? She had never been truly religious, much to her discredit, not like Keili. But they had all been taught the Chant and the teachings, and she knew of the dangers a sole mage could face. She could recite the lessons relevant to mages, that a life in the Circle was their punishment for being born other. In the bright firelight, cradled by the soft, scented night, she could not bring herself to believe them, even pretend to like she often did in a desperate attempt to fit in. She wondered how many of the others back home - for she could not help but see the Circle as _home_ \- felt this way; how many were like Keili, and how many like her, going through the motions in the hopes that belief would stick one day, like a stubborn spell you had to practice until your body and mind recognised the motions by instinct and reacted as intended?

Evie shook herself as if to disengage water from her face and straightened, resting her feet squarely on the rocky floor of their cave. No, she would not doubt. She could not doubt. This was all she had.

**

It would be over two and a half weeks before they reached Ostagar, but they did not yet know it. During this time, Duncan had noticed Evie's predilection for Herbalism and encouraged her to buy a few tools which she needed the most - a small pestle and mortar, even a few glass vials. He paid for them, claiming a fighter would always need a few health tonics if she was so inclined to assist him. She saw through it, of course, but had no experience in dealing with gifts or such kindness, so she nodded thoughtfully and set to work. By the time they had reached the first settlement after Redcliffe, Evie had prepared a few handful of vials, which Duncan exchanged for coins and insisted on sharing with her.

'Hard work is its own reward,' he started one night, while they ate at an inn as a rare treat. He had been hunting before they arrived and had procured a good sum for the animal in town. 'However new boots and a cloak will do nicely.'

Evie would have been offended at the remark, had her feet not been aching as if pressed to a red hot stone all day. The sharp, burning pain in her back and shoulders lessened after the first week of carrying her few belongings on the road, but she still fought the urge to rub at her neck whenever still. She grunted into her dinner and stirred the unfamiliar concoction about, glad it would at least warm her up. The man simply chuckled to himself and proceeded to enjoy his supper. You could not stay mad for long in his presence, which Evie decided was most unbecoming and ungentlemany. She should be allowed to sulk if she so wished, given that it was the first time in her memory that she even had the option. And yet, here he was, being charming, and fair and kind.

She went to the shops as soon as they opened the next morning and bought herself a sturdy pair of leather boots and a fur-lined cloak, and pretended she did not notice the slight smirk on his lips when they set off that day 

**

And one day, they arrived.

Ostagar, Duncan had called it. A great keep of old, remains of an age past where it protected Ferelden from invaders, about to do its duty once more against the horde of darkspawn.  It stood tall over the lowlands, on the very edge of the Korcari Wilds, a bastion of civilisation and a point of no return. Despite the uneventful walk up to this landmark, there was a sense of finality which took her by surprise. She knew, of course, that the trip there had been just that, travel to their final destination, but she had gotten used to the life, almost. A pang of something unknown went through her, quickly extinguished by well used reflexes. Despite how insufferable he had been at times - mostly by proving right on most subjects but refusing to gloat or bring it to her attention -, there had been a sort of camaraderie between them. Evie had grown familiar with him, if not slightly fond of him, and he had been nothing but respectful and kind, patient and willing to teach her about the world she knew so little about.

Nevertheless. This was where she would join the Grey Wardens and either succeed in defending her home against the Blight, or fail and prove everyone was correct in their estimation of her abilities. Quite unnervingly, the keep was obviously a rescued ruin, crumbling in places from marks of previous battles lost despite the attempts to make it into a headquarters of sort, a last stand of humankind. As she walked through the gates, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice, facing into the void, her back to the darkness which was inhabited by every living creature's worst nightmare, her face illuminated by bright fires very different to the warm safety of the nightly campfire she had grown used to.

As they walked, Duncan explained the history of the place - it was not without its sad beauty, obviously a thing of wonder in its day, and she listened gratefully. During their time, he had picked up on her love of history and thirst for knowing more about the world she had been so denied, and often indulged in little stories of the places they passed. For that, as well, she had been grateful.

Evie was dragged out of her reverie by a pleasant voice, as bright and luminous as the golden figure which approached them and grabbed Duncan by his forearm, shaking it in a fashion popular amongst noble men as far as Evie could decipher.

'Ho there, Duncan!'

The King! In the flesh! Evie could not help but stare as Duncan introduced him - and he seemed so very nice, surely it was only a show for the troops? Of course, Evie knew he would be here to lead the battle but the notion faded when confronted with the flesh and blood person standing in front of her, a slight teasing to his voice as he addressed Duncan like an old friend. Confused and not a little star struck, she bowed her head slightly and loosely clasped her hands in front of her as she would have done back in the Tower when in audience with someone of importance. 

'I take it this is she? There's no need to be so formal, Duncan. We'll be shedding blood together after all! Ho there, friend, might I know your name?'

'I am Evie, Your Majesty,' she replied, unsure of how to react. She had had less warmer welcomes from Initiates and Apprentices - she had managed to get used to being a full Mage at some point during their travels -, and this was the ruler of the land talking about shedding blood together? She felt confused and weary, and all of a sudden wished for the comfort of routine as the king spoke of wanting to be like the kings of old, riding into battle alongside the Grey Wardens against a tainted god. She was grateful for his easy demeanour and obvious warmth, but she could not help secretly wondering if those words were truth or deflection. Did he speak as such because he truly believed this would be almost beneath him and the army he had gathered, an easy task to be overcome and forgotten? Or was he speaking so to bolster the fighters, give them confidence - and thus, to Evie's mind, the implication arose that they needed the confidence against odds stacked against them. Was the king blind to the danger, or did he understand it all to well and this was a planned attempt to offer every drop of advantage he could to his people?

Evie could not help respecting the man either way, for even in the short time and with her natural reluctance she could not help but like him. All those that interacted with him seemed smitten as well by his overwhelming charisma and good nature. Now that curiosity overcame her first feeling of shyness, Evie watched him walk away, stopping every few paces to chat to one soldier or another, all the while listening to Duncan explain the situation to her; he made it sound much more dire than the confident Commander of the troops. _The latter assumption, perhaps? What does that mean then for tomorrow?_

She waited until after Duncan sent her off to explore the camp to sigh and surreptitiously rub her shoulders underneath her backpack, then rearrange the belt of tonics at her waist. She had gotten better, but she was still very much a Circle Mage, unaccustomed to such things.

The camp was large but everyone was kind enough as long as she kept her long hair over her ears. There had been few reasons for such judgements in the Circle, and for that at least she quickly became grateful. In short order, she was mistaken for a servant by a strange group of men calling themselves Ash Warriors - what peculiar names they chose for themselves, and they dared mock her for something she could not control? - to the quartermaster; the exhaustion of the trip had caught up with her by then and she had a good mind to set fire to his breeches and only took his apologies reluctantly because she had seen the Circle banner fly in the distance. Her mind was instantly distracted and her spirit drenched in confusion.

Should she go to her own people? Did she want to?

Where they even her own people any longer? 

Normally Mages were housed together, and she briefly wondered if it would be arranged similarly now. It made sense for the Templars to want all the potential danger contained in a small area, so they could protect others from their charges - or so the reasoning went. She was not yet a Grey Warden, but was she of the Circle? She recognised the markings as Kinloch Hold's own, and a sharp longing hit her unexpectedly. In the end, she could no more resist its pull than the shore could resist Lake Calenhad's soft waves on a windy day. 

She avoided the Templars, quite unable to face them just yet, and saw Senior Enchanter Wynne; they had not spoken much before but after her cowardly behaviour with the Templars she felt this a manageable act of bravery. It proved quite a good choice indeed once introductions were made, and she smiled at the older Mage's compliments as they spoke. 

'Irving said as much about you', she chuckled, ' _Remarkable self confidence._ ' 

Evie's smile tended towards self-depreciating. 'I would not say as much, Senior Enchanter. I merely know where my limits lay.' 

Wynne's smile was almost impish in quality, but she ignored the comment and steered the discussion onward with naught but a quick request to call her Wynne. Evie did not know if it was due to being around another Mage after such a long time - she could not remember a time before the Circle, so two and a half weeks was the longest she had been without her kind - or if the woman was genuinely that lovely, but she found herself relaxing in Wynne's presence. She even smiled and promised to come back before the battle if she could, before going off to find this Alistair fellow. She even found that she had meant it. 

This moment of pleasant calm did little to cushion the impact of her first impression, however. In short order, Evie decided that the young man was quite possibly the oddest human she had met so far. Not even the overly friendly ruler of the whole of Ferelden could top this smart mouthed, sarcastic oddball of a human. She slowly crept up while he spoke to the mage - one of the leaders of those dispatched to fight with the army, she noticed - and was so taken aback by his comments that she nearly burst into laughter at his sheer audacity to speak to one of the Senior members of the Circle in such way. She pressed herself to one of the pillars at the top of the ramp like an errant child caught sneaking out past curfew, one hand to her mouth to muffle the sound and one to her chest to calm her heart. The damage was done, however mitigated, as both sets of eyes were on her by the time she recovered enough to emerge, wrapping an attitude of nonchalance around herself like a cloak. The mage glared at her as he walked past, one last biting remark to the young man who could be none other than the one she sought. Evie felt the tips of her ears burn and surreptitiously shook her head to ensure they were covered by her hair. 

'You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.' 

She nearly told him how strange he was, but what came out was a taste of the humour she had not exercised in over a year. 'I know exactly what you mean,' she said with a perfectly straight face, clasping her tingling fingers in front of herself. His face lit up and his eyes twinkled in a way she recognised from another tall blond young man, although that face was a few years older and would likely be very different from her memory now. The thought was a sobering one, but she tried to disguise it with a polite introduction and confirmation that she was, indeed, another mage, but likely not in the way he meant it. She explained her background, although he seemed to have her at a disadvantage. He explained his role in her Joining, and remarked upon the shortage of women in their ranks.

'Maybe we're too smart for you,' she quipped before she could stop herself, the relatively innocent comment finding a sore spot she did not know she had.

An eyebrow headed skyward, apparently surprised at her willingness to engage with the banter. 'If that's the case, what does that make you?'

Yes, there was something about the man, a sort of innate likeableness. She cocked her head to her side and smiled. 'Incredibly unlucky.'

He laughed then and clutched at his chest, feigning injury as he guided her back through the camp, chatting away with her in an easy manner she was not quite used to. He spoke openly and was not reluctant to show his pleasure at her answers, or displeasure at the things they encountered. Alistair made sure, she realised quickly, to walk her past a group of soldiers being instructed in the basics of darkspawn, and even stopped by her side when she noticed one of the dreadful beings dead upon the ground. Evie watched it, caught between nausea and fascination, its features only remotely humanoid. He allowed her to watch the lesson before gently guiding her away, a hand at the small of her back, the barest of touches through her thick travel cloak. She was deep in thought for the rest of the journey, only jumping as if stung when they neared the kennels and a whole wave of sound hit her as if at once. He was clearly amused by her reaction and stopped to quickly chat to the Kennel-master while Evie half-hid behind him, eyeing the monstrous beasts and catching snippets of their conversation. She was Fereldan herself, as far as she was aware, so she was familiar with what was surely the national animal. You could more easily speak ill of the King than of the most beloved mabari, and she chastised herself quietly for spooking like a child. Even if she had not before seen such slobbering piles of muscle up close.

The interlude did not last long and her return to Duncan's camp did not prove nearly as pleasant as she had expected. By the time she had been introduced to the other two Warden-hopefuls, she was convinced Daveth was about the slimiest scoundrel she had met in her admittedly sheltered life and Jory reminded her so much of a Templar she had trouble believing him otherwise. Coming from Redcliffe, she could almost believe him some sort of spy. In the end, Evie had to fight to leave his presence without outright running and pulled her cloak tighter around herself, unconsciously seeking its protection as she had in the days travelling on the road.  

She had not entirely discounted this possibility by the time they were sent off into the Wilds, and kept close to Alistair while they walked. Ostensibly, this was to gather darkspawn blood for whatever ritual this Joining was, for it was clearly a ritual, and Evie was well versed in such things. As she quickly pointed out, tired beyond belief of the Templar-like man's constant whining, rituals always had a symbolic meaning and this was clearly no different; it was a test of their courage inasmuch as anything else, and they would do well to carry on. The usually talkative Alistair seemed quiet on this point, which she took as confirmation and listened to her own advice throughout the task. In fact, he was mostly quiet during the extent of their stay in the wretched swamp, with only a few remarks here and there, even as they encountered a pack of wolves and then even more of those dreadful creatures.

Evie was ashamed to find that her reaction when faced with danger was to incinerate everything in front of her with a quick fireball before the other two hopefuls even drew their weapons. She looked stricken at the carnage in front of her and turned to apologise profusely to Alistair, who would surely report back to Duncan what an unfit candidate she would be for the role. Evie knew full well that a mage who reacted in such an... an unstable way was a threat to all and a danger to herself. _I would be lucky to not be made Tranquil at this point,_ she thought, feeling the fingers of despair wrapping themselves around her throat.

But he seemed to ignore her and scavenge the remains for anything they could use. While slightly distasteful, she had learned this necessity of life on the road during her short travels with Duncan and the others did not seem surprised either. What baffled her was that Alistair fell behind when the other two took point, with her meekly trailing last, and only patted her on the shoulder with a quick 'well done'. He moved on after that, but never more than a few steps ahead. She was deeply confused at the praise. Had she not proven herself dangerous?

It became even more odd when she was the first to figure out the darkspawn rogue's ambush trick. They had been sitting on a log, with Daveth pointing out a particular flower the Kennel-master had needed and Evie doing her best to gather a handful without falling into the muck of a small lake, when a strange sharp growling came from the very air around them. They were taken by surprise then, but the next time the sound came Evie went back to back with Alistair, who was by all accounts surprised to find pressed to his back the shiest and most reluctant of his temporary companions, and released a net of small but potent lightning tendrils in an arc in front of her. Her aim was off and the rays of the arc were wobbly and crisscrossed oddly, making Daveth have to drop to the ground else be hit, but the darkspawn dropped onto the ground, shocked into submission. The other two caught on and between them all this became an effective tactic to survive the surprise attacks.

It was harder to dispatch the big groups they found deeper into the Wilds, but Alistair seemed to have noted Evie's odd reaction to being in a fight. She would lose all inhibition once danger arose, becoming a deadly weapon for all of three minutes before whatever wrong she believed herself to be committing overcame her and she hid behind the barest of defensive moves, more a liability than a threat. As such, he quickly started to direct her into providing cover for Daveth to run in and use his dirty fighting tactics, stunning most of the enemies whilst Alistair and Jorry dispatched the rest.

It worked well indeed, and they made a good team. Unfortunately, the tactic could by its very nature only work against enemies they wished to kill.

'Well, well. What have we here?'

Evie spun around as the soft, slightly accented voice drifted to her through the ruins.

'Are you a vulture I wonder, a scavenger poking through bones which were long since cleaned?' The stranger was dressed oddly, and for once Evie could tell it was not just her sheltered upbringing's effects. She was so... pretty, but not like the ladies she had spied in passing. More like a thing of nature, beautiful and dangerous, moving like a cat would if made human. 'Or are you an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled Wilds of mine?'

Evie had never seen Alistair take such an instant dislike to someone - although, she would freely admit, she had not known him for very long at all -, but when the other men started mutterings of 'witch' and other such expletives Evie could feel her anger bubble up once more. Such children they were being!

But she did have the most peculiar eyes.

'You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.'

'I am Evie. It is a pleasure to meet you.' It did not escape her that the woman was carrying a large stick with her. Even if she had not felt the vibrations exuded by it, it was clearly a staff, albeit one crafted in less a sophisticated manner than she was used to. _Could she teach me how to survive without Templars?_  

Morrigan. A name as peculiar as the woman's eyes. Evie could not help but admire the smart-tongued woman and she did all but stare at her in fascination and not a little bit of awe. The woman was faced with three men, all armed to the teeth, and did not even flinch. She could not help the honest smile which graced her face when Morrigan proclaimed that she liked her. Foolish it may have appeared, but she followed her gladly to see her mysterious mother, and did not regret her choice even as they stood before the old woman. 

For old she was, and yet there was something odd about her, beyond the appearance of senility. Evie could not decide whether she was honestly losing her wits, or if it was all pretence to lower the guard of those inclined to underestimate her. All Evie knew was that she would do no such thing. She remained polite and expressed gratitude when the woman gave her the treaties, thanking her and ensuring she said farewell to the young woman she had met before. 

Even as Alistair mumbled about it the whole way back to camp, now that they had their darkspawn blood and treaties, Evie replayed their meeting carefully. There was indeed something peculiar about the old woman and her daughter, and Evie had a feeling they would meet again. She thought about her odd eyes as Alistair insisted they stop by the Kennel-master and ran some further errands, almost like he was putting something off. 

** 

'Join us, brothers and sisters,' Alistair's voice intoned, reverent in the quiet night. 'Join us in the shadows, where we stand vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.' 

Daveth went first. He drank bravely from the goblet Duncan handed to him. He died in agony as he collapsed to the ground. 

Jory died second, run through by Duncan's blade as he tried to escape, his wife's name on his lips. 

Evie did not die, although at times she may have wished she had.

 

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

-Benedictions 4:10

 


	4. Trial by fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie and Alistair have survived Ostagar, but just barely, and now have to survive a lot more, including a most interesting witch and her daughter's curiosity.

_And the Maker gave them signs and portents_

_That no victory was theirs to claim._

-Threnodies 6:23

 

It was like a dream, if a dream could be ripped from the darkest part of the Fade, whence demons ruled and banqueted upon mortals' hopes, then made flesh and blood and body. All that existed, all that remained true were pain and terror, burrowed deep into her heart and seared onto her brain.

Terror when they crossed the crumbling bridge with fire pelting them from all sides, great big flaming spheres killing their army, _their people_ , left and right. Soldiers, yes, but also children, husbands, wives, someone's. She fell to her knees when such a sphere took out the parapets to her right, killing the brave souls who would defend it. She did not feel the blood soaking into her ripped robes as she pushed off before Alistair could waste precious time assisting her, did not feel the gravel embedded into her palms or the heat which scorched her brow. Must press forward, must get to the Tower. Must survive so Ferelden does not fall.

Terror when they found the first of the darkspawn, stared into their open maws and burning eyes as Evie blanketed the path ahead with lightning to create an opening in the fray. They were even viler for their human proportions and intelligence in combat, while they screeched and threw themselves into battle with the full knowledge that the horde was behind them. Two others were all that was left of those guarding the tower, two others whose names she had never found out before they turned on their heels and marched back in, and whose names she would never know.

Terror once they entered the Tower of Ishal, claustrophobic corridors filled with the stench of death, decay and despair, swarming with so many of the creatures it was hard to believe the Tower was ever otherwise, overflowing with gore and what was left of the guards. They found a hole in the ground from whence they came, seemingly the abyss itself staring back at her. Yet more monsters surrounded them, taunting them even as they were run through by Alistair's sword or they fell to the power of the elements released by Evie's staff. Her attention and energy were divided between sweeping the corridors ahead and watching her companions' health, pushing bottles into their hands and threatening them into remembering to drink it down.

When they reached the room full of cages, she hesitated to release the hounds. Not, for once, of fear for herself; she was frozen in place because she feared what would happen to them if they were to ingest the darkspawn's cursed blood, haunted by the kennel-master's words to Alistair and the dog they had saved with the white marsh flowers. Seemingly understanding her fears, Alistair shouted something to the guard, who stood between them and the horde to allow a precious few seconds of respite. Alistair's large hand fell on her shoulder and he looked her in the eyes. She gulped.

'They will be lost if you leave them in those cages.'

Evie's green eyes went wide and she nodded. Of course, Alistair did not expect them to survive even if they reached the beacon. He did not expect anyone to follow them and retrieve the hounds before the darkspawn fell upon them. The armies were engaged, few resources could be spared to rescue just two soldiers, be they Wardens or otherwise, until after the battle was won. The thought was sobering, but freeing in a way. Her life was forfeit when she left the Circle to join Duncan's order. This was what her oath led to. She pushed the lever and watched the animals fly out of their confinement, making short work of the monsters. Evie spared a second's prayer for them, hoped against hope they would escape even as they turned and ran as fast as they could towards the signal flare.

The moment when terror finally overwhelmed them was not any of the previous.

Not even when they entered the beacon's room and found a small mountain of evil crouched over the broken shape that was all which remained of a fellow Fereldan. Bile rose into her mouth as the ogre turned its beady eyes to them, but years of discipline released a barrage of lightning bolts before her mind caught up. She was not a fighter, but she knew better than to give fear a foothold. Evie grasped the staff harder and focused on her breathing, thinking through the right forms for Winter's Grasp, putting her all into the spell and freezing the ogre stiff even as Alistair and the other warrior reached it. The spell took most of her mana; cold was not an element that came easy to Evie. She could not call it to her as easily as lighting, could not stoke it as she did fire. Those were old friends, who came easily and caused as much joy as they did mischief, which could be fuelled by emotion and anxiety both and thus lived off of fuel found in abundance. Cold was stillness and intent, the feel of being deep with the Fade, the morning prayer in the Chapel on winter's days. But it had been the only thing which she could think of to effectively help, and it had worked, and that was what mattered.

Evie knelt on the floor to conserve energy and focused harder, aiming her staff at the ogre's bulk to avoid the need to aim. She felt the tickle of blood dripping down her upper lip while she tried to find the right bottle at her belt, and a part of her which she kept leashed tightly looked forward to the feeling she knew would come. The vial's delicate curve kissed her lips; the liquid was cold and sickly sweet as it slid down her throat, but the drops of lyrium suspended within it fizzed on her tongue, sang in her mouth, reverberated through her veins. She felt it caress its way down her throat, its touch as delicate as wings spread through her being, singing louder as it became one with her own being, to the point where she felt the Fade as if she could simply reach out and join the symphony. Her vision cleared slowly and she renewed her efforts, legs too weak to hold her up.

Alistair flew through the air and time itself seemed to slow down as he ran his sword through the beast's eye, riding it to the floor to its death.

No, the moment when terror finally overwhelmed them was when Evie, barely huffing out her breaths and the lyrium in her veins already spent, turned towards the beacon and shot a line of fire at the logs within.

It was when the beacon lit, but another horde of the creatures arrived and no sign of Loghain's men could be seen through the tall windows coming to the King's aid.

And when the screams of the men below were all that they heard before arrows fell upon them.

When they realised that their sacrifice would be pointless.

Even as the arrow pierced her breast, that was when was when she finally gave into her terror, and its pain was far greater than any wounds of the flesh. They had failed.

The world was darkness and pain and despair.

 

***

 

Evie gasped and sat up, her first thought on fighting for her life.

'Ah your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased,' a familiar, melodic voice intoned, drawing her eyes to the other side of the small room. A woman stood by the bookshelf, hand on hip, dark hair gathered haphazardly atop a slender neck to frame her delicate face.  

'Morrigan? How... '

'You were injured, and Mother rescued you.' The woman came closer and stood by her bed, as matter of fact as ever in her speech and demeanour. Evie became aware of herself all at once, of the cool air flowing against mostly naked flesh and the bandages still wrapped around her torso. Her mouth felt like moss had grown inside of it and she could still taste the bitterness of elfroot on her tongue. She was used to having little privacy, but the sudden realisation still brought her knees up to her chest, making herself small, looking slightly downward of the woman's face while she grasped the bedcovers over herself.

'I... the darkspawn were upon us. The army, the king...' Evie's eyes went wide and she stood up all too fast, wincing at the contact her bare feet made with the cold floor. 'Alistair. Is he alright? He was with me, and so were two more.'

The woman did not look unsympathetic even as she stood her ground. 'Mother managed to save you and your friend, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you both live.'

Evie fell onto the bed more than sat down, feeling dizzy and stiff from prolonged stillness. Tears threatened to blur her vision as Morrigan explained Loghain's betrayal and she grasped the bedcovers in her hands until her fingers hurt. They were tears of sadness, but of anger also. All those men and women, all those lives lost for what? She could not decide if she was mad at the King for making them all attempt this madness - however blasphemous that thought was - or at Loghain for failing to save his liege in his time of need; nor could she spare enough time to figure out her own heart's pains and sadness.

'Your friend... he is not taking it well.'

Evie looked up at the softness in Morrigan's voice and realisation dawned once more. Alistair had known them far longer than she had, her loss was nothing compared to his yet here she sat sulking like the whole of Thedas revolved around her. _Duncan_ , she thought with a gasp, feeling her world crumbling once more. Stillness overcame her, a well travelled path to avoid any giveaway of emotion. He must have escaped, must have survived. Surely there had to have been some survivors. She could not comprehend a world where the kind, wise Duncan, who had taught her how to make a fire and indirectly bought her first travel cloak, who had saved her from a life unfitted to her and certain Tranquillity. It could not be so.

'What happened to the others, what happened to the King?' Evie stood once more, slower and decisive but not less awkward, and Morrigan pointed her towards a trunk at the end of the bed, apparently picking up on her thoughts. She dressed in silence as the other woman explained with periodic prompting the nightmare she had awoken to. Everyone was dead, the few survivors scattered or facing a fate much, much worse than death at the hands of the darkspawn horde. Alistair had not taken the news as well as her and had not stopped grieving. He had not thought Evie would survive, and her injuries had indeed been severe.

Evie nodded, numb, and strapped her staff to her back, finally turning around to face the other woman fully dressed. 'Thank you Morrigan.'

The woman seemed flustered by the compliment and was quick to pass off the praise onto her mother's work. Evie raised an eyebrow but did not comment further. They had dallied enough, it seemed, or perhaps Morrigan was worried more praise was forthcoming and was unwilling to deal with its effects on her own view of the world.

With a sigh, she asked for answers she did not in all truth wish to know. The fate of those left behind was no surprise, although what Morrigan did not say created an even more vivid image than the information she wished to share. Evie was intrigued to hear of the magic Morrigan's mother possessed which would ward off darkspawn, but she was fearful of losing the other woman's goodwill by prying overmuch. At the next claim of her mother's abilities and great birds plucking them from atop the tower, Evie could not help the indelicate snort of disbelief.

'If you do not believe that tale, then I suggest you ask Mother yourself. She might even tell you.'

'Noted, thank you. May we please go speak to her? I should check on Alistair.'

Morrigan did not help her back up but allowed her a second's reprieve whilst she gathered herself and followed. They had been in a cottage which spanned no larger than the one room she had woken up in, the same cottage Morrigan had brought them to what felt like a lifetime ago.

Her gaze seemed drawn to the lone figure by the edge of the water, gazing forlornly into the distance at shadows only he could see. His shoulders were slumped with the weight of the whole of Thedas, his eyebrows pinched above his liquid gold eyes, arms crossed like a shield against pain.

Flemeth's voice broke through, announcing their arrival and prompting him to turn and walk towards her, eyes wide and unbelieving, reaching out to her as a drowning man would reach for a rope. She had never been happier to see someone alive and well, breath tripping over unshed tears and haunting memories, catching before it reached her lips.

'You...you're alive! I thought you were dead for sure.' The disbelief was still evident in his voice and Evie's heart felt like it was trying to reach out to him, to wash the grief from his face and erase the void left in the world which bore the shape of betrayal.

'I thought the same of you, but here we are, thanks to Morrigan's mother.' She gave him a smile she did not feel and reached out to rest a hand on his arm, squeezing softly as if trying to impart a strength she herself lacked.

'Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king... They're all dead.' He shook his head and put into words her very feelings. 'This doesn't seem real.'

The two remaining Wardens gazed at each other for what felt like eons, lost in a pain that was all their own. They could not share the grief with others, for there was no one left who could feel as they did, who had lost those they had. The realisation settled on them like an oppressive mist, clogging their mind and slowing their limbs. With great effort, they turned towards the old woman observing them.

'What do we call you? You... you never gave us your name.' Alistair's voice faltered but he carried on regardless.

'Names are pretty, but useless.' The woman's voice had something of Morrigan's cadence, but none of the melodic caress of her daughter's, grown rougher from the years of use. She introduced herself as Flemeth, a name which Alistair at least seemed familiar with, if slightly in awe of. Evie herself had barely heard of the Chasind tribes themselves, let alone their legends. She knew _of them_ , but only vaguely so. The old woman spoke of the Wardens' duty to protect the land, of treaties of old and betrayals new. Of shadows within men's hearts which are darker than any tainted creature. Evie listened, beside her fellow Warden, faces of those lost not long ago flashing before her eyes and the words of the demon from her Harrowing ringing in her ears.

**The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions. Careless trust. Pride**.

' **Keep your wits about you, Mage. True tests never end**.'

It seemed the advice would apply to more than the Fade, if this Loghain thought armies alone could stand against the Blight. She felt a cold determination fall onto her, settling in her like a large bird settling upon its nest, prepared to weather the storm on the horizon. She would not lose her newfound freedom to the Blight, would not waste her twice-restored life upon the altar of one man's pride.

She would pass this test, even if it lasted until the end of days.

'This archdemon,' she started softly, still halfway in her own thoughts, 'what is it exactly?'

Flemeth obliged with tales of Old Gods and the familiar stories of the Blight. _Everything comes back to the Black City and the sins of Magisters eventually_ , came a bitter whisper of a thought.

'Alistair, how long would it take to contact the other Wardens?'

'Too long. Cailan already summoned them. They'll come if they can, but I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them.' His usual brightness was dimed by the shadow of his loss. 'We must assume they will not arrive in time.'

'Flemeth, would you help us?'

The old woman was entirely too innocent-sounding when she denied any knowledge of darkspawn or how to stop them. Evie looked at her for a few beats too long, remembering Morrigan's assurance that her mother's magic would keep the darkspawn away all too clearly. She took a deep breath as she considered the facts laid before her and listened to Alistair's emphatic statements of Arl Eamon's honour and ability to support the Wardens in their plight. The old woman was lying, that much was clear, but the reason for the lie was likely more important than the lie itself. She could think of no way to call her saviour out and not alienate the only ally they may have, which only left her with one option.

'We can go to the Arl, if you believe he would help us.'

Alistair was emphatic in his defence of the man, another fact which Evie tucked away for later rumination. He spoke of knowing the man well and the feelings of loyalty this Arl evoked in her young companion were obvious. While Evie could claim no alliance of that magnitude, she understood the feeling well enough to know they could not be relied upon. They were fleeting things, not to be trusted. Jowan's betrayal still stung her heart when she was caught off guard.

Whilst she considered matters of loyalty and things of past, Flemeth guided Alistair's thoughts to the treaties they had recovered just days prior, and it seemed the path before them was set out. There was little left for Evie to do but follow, realising with an unaccustomed sadness that she had even less to her name than when she had left the Circle. Her small backpack remained, as she had not wished to part with it in the heat of battle, but it held only the briefest of personal effects. They barely owned anything but the shirts on their backs, and she could only hope Duncan's gift for survival had rubbed off on the younger Warden.

'So can we do this?' Stoked by Flemeth's words, Alistair's hope had returned, his voice tentative yet bright. 'Go to Redcliffe and these other places and... build an army?'

An army. The word sat oddly on her tongue.

They discussed it only briefly before it was settled but for an even more peculiar interruption. Evie's suspicion of the old woman grew tenfold when she volunteered her own daughter for the mission, as such a gesture could only mean one of two things: either Flemeth's power of protection was not as great as Morrigan had implied, or, on the contrary, Flemeth's words held truth and the old woman believed Morrigan to hold the key to their success.

Either way, she was glad for the addition. They were all alone in the world, and Morrigan had increased their numbers by half simply through agreeing to the request. As much as she argued with her mother, and undoubtedly the hurt at being so cast out was genuine, Evie could not ignore the undercurrent of excitement tinged with not a small dose of fear within the other woman's voice. She had felt a similar thing as she sat rocked by the gentle waves of Lake Calenhad, leaving all that she had ever known behind for good. And she had not had much more of a choice than Morrigan seemed to, which made her all the fonder of the woman.

'I would suggest a small village to the North as our first destination,' Morrigan seemed to steel herself, barely a hint of hesitation which would not have been noticeable if Evie had not been watching her closely. 'Or, if you prefer, I shall be your silent guide.'

'You know the Wilds far better than we can ever claim to,' Evie cut off before Alistair could speak, 'I would have us all speak freely here, please Morrigan. You have agreed to be our guide, but we are the reason you have to go through this, I could not bear it otherwise.' She reached out as if to rest her hand on the other woman's arm but caught herself and fiddled with her braid to disguise the motion. 'We will split duties equally and figure this out as we go along.' A small smile at Alistair's dismayed expression. 'Care to tell me a little about where we are heading, and what we shall pass along the way?'

Morrigan paused, taken aback by the monologue from the otherwise near-silent woman. 'As you wish.' She went on to describe her brief outings as a child, the small village with its Chantry and superstitious folk. Alistair trailed behind, seemingly sulking while Morrigan took them through shortcuts and over pools of dank water, all the while chatting softly. The young woman was far from warm and open with Evie, but she could sense a slight thawing as she asked her more questions. It was not simply a ploy to draw their new companion closer; the woman's upbringing was so different to her own cloistered one that Evie could barely even imagine it. She was fascinated by every word Morrigan uttered, it seemed, and she could not decide if Morrigan seemed amused or annoyed by the fact.

They paused briefly at the edge of the Wilds, arguably to allow Evie to catch her breath and the lot of them to refill their water skins at a small, clear stream. Evie pretended not to notice the look of pained longing which briefly crossed her new companion's face, before the normal mask of confidence slid into place. She busied herself with splashing water on her face rather reluctantly, caught between hating the thought of having to wash in a wild stream like a boar and desperately wanting to take advantage of the last chance they would have for a while to clean up a little.

She was so distracted when a loud noise finally reached her ears, followed by a bark so fierce she screamed and fell face first into the stream, barely managing to hold her arms in front of herself to break her fall. The world was shouting and mud and water splashing left and right, and her companions were making an ungodly noise she finally realised with no small dose of annoyance was laughter. Sputtering, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and froze when she saw the beast' muzzle not a foot away from her own nose.

'A-alistair.' She started softly, afraid to even breathe too loudly so not to spook the animal. 'Wh-what is this?'

'That, my dear,' said the man in question, wiping his eyes through fits of giggles, 'is a mabari.'

'I understand that you were raised in a Circle, but tis not an uncommon sight in Ferelden.'

She glared up at them, tempted to send a small bolt of lightning to express her displeasure, if not for the monster staring her down and the fact that she would more likely fry soaked herself than do any harm to them. 'I know _that_. Why is it staring at me?'

'Weeeell, do you remember what the kennel-master said about imprinting?' She nodded stiffly. Her bottom was becoming quite numb from the cold and having your underthings soaking in a river while you were still wearing them was not an experience she was very keen on. 'I guess this one really appreciated what you did for them. He must have tracked you all the way from Ostagar.'

The beast in question wagged its tail at her raised eyebrow. He did not seem quite so... ferocious now that the first shock had passed. In fact, it seemed rather goofy.

Evie chanced a move and sat up. She was still waist-deep in the icy cold water but moving her weight had somewhat relieved her discomfort. The mabari seemed to have grown bored of her silliness, however, and she yelped when a big, warm tongue scrubbed her face from chin to forehead. Alistair was doubled over trying to catch his breath while Evie sat there, attempting to reconcile her world view enough to regain use of her brain.

 

_They are sinners, who have given their love  
To false gods._

Transfigurations 1:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER NEARLY KILLED ME. I'm sorry I only edited it once, if I had to stare at it for one more day I would have given up on the whole fandom just to escape it. Thanks to the two lovlies who have had to put up with me moaning about it the whole time.


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